The wretched girls, therefore, prepared
to make their way to the homes of their relatives, knowing that those
homes would soon be turned into heaps of ashes. It was a bright warm
autumn day this, the last which the Larochejaquelins were to pass
together in the mansion in which they had all been born. The men came
over early, and breakfasted at the chateau, and both Henri and Arthur
worked hard to relieve the sadness of the party with some sparks of
their accustomed gaiety; the attempt, however, was futile; they each
felt that their hours of gaiety were gone by, and before the meal was
over, they had both resolved that any attempt at mirth that day, would
be a stretch of hypocrisy beyond their power.
When breakfast was over, the Marquis begged that, for the last time, he
might be wheeled round the garden-walks, which he loved so well, and
accordingly he was put into his chair, and, accompanied by his children
and friends, was dragged through every alley, and every little
meandering path. He would not spare himself a single turn--he had a tear
to give to every well-known tree, an adieu to make to every painted
figure.
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